


Between Man And God

by Peter_Yellowhammer



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Body Worship, Bursting Clothes, Butts, Feels toward the end, Just Pretend It Makes Sense, Kink Meme, Loose Interpretation, M/M, Masturbation, Muscles, Pecs, Smut, Voyeurism, filling my own prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peter_Yellowhammer/pseuds/Peter_Yellowhammer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>24601 was a big guy. So is Madeleine. Javert likes to think about both of them, but it's getting difficult to keep it under wraps. Meanwhile, Valjean privately wishes the Inspector weren't so "conservative" all the time. Then something happens in the mayor's office, and their pretense starts to tear itself to shreds...</p><p>Decided to fill my own prompt out of impatience. I hope it's enjoyable! This gets pretty perverted, so the soft-hearted probably wouldn't care for this XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Man And God

What was there to say? Madeleine was tremendous in so many ways, and his physique being one of them was not a surprising revelation when put in this context. Javert never thought he would see musculature or curvature or elan or raw power like that of the prisoner Jean Valjean again...and yet here they were. Fauchelevent was saved from the broken cart, and Inspector Javert was forcefully reminded of that massive, voluptuous convict by his own good mayor.

He would be lying if he said this did not make him wonder about Madeleine. But most of that wonder was upon that large rump that flexed from just beyond the sinking wood. Almost perfectly round...a slight jiggle from adjusting his position, staring him right in the face against the now-torn trousers. And then the drawers tore, revealing...Javert was quick to return Madeleine's overcoat to him. Absolutely terrible, yes. Morally reprehensible, given that the lack of a jack-screw was the only reason the mayor was driven to such insanity. But no matter how much he berated himself, Javert could not think of anything else for the rest of that day.

Or that week. Or that month.

In fact, precisely one month after the incident, Javert had pulled his back away from his prick in realization of what he was letting happen: his habit of masturbation had returned. Just what he needed. He was already having depraved dreams, and now he had fallen into making it worse. Working as a guard was not so troublesome for a speed-spiller: most of it was standing around and being bored. But a police spy needed energy, and trying to quit this renewed habit would rob himself of this energy, leading to sloppy work performance. The only rationalization Javert could possibly accept for this behavior was that 24601 would hardly leave his thoughts now anyway.

But what of the mayor?, he would ask himself. Why not lust after a man worthy of such desire? Because Madeleine did not deserve such frivolous attention, and certainly not from an underling, answered Javert. The conclusion was simple: he had to keep his carnal spirit entertained until the beast of a man left his thoughts. Somehow.

Javert gripped himself again in resignation and shut his eyes.

For perhaps the thirtieth time, he let his mind travel to the Bagne. The prisoner would be assigned to lift heavy boulders that day. High over his head. Perhaps they were being used to build a wall, Javert couldn't say. But 24601 was lifting them now, not even being commanded or punished into doing so. His filthy smock was strained to the limit against a heaving, sweat-slick chest. 24601 started throwing the boulders to their destination somewhere, Javert could not look where. He could not. The prisoner bent his legs...making his trousers strain as well, with large holes showing patches of skin and muscle bulging from their confinement. The patches helped Javert fill in the blanks for the illustration of Valjean's thighs...two pale tree trunks, running up to the wide and thick crotch, supporting his even thicker and wider waist. Then the boulder was launched, clear over Javert's head, to land with a loud clack of heavy stone upon concrete. The force of the throw had shredded the frock, making some of it fall into useless tatters around him. Valjean shook off the depression that the boulder pressed upon his skin, making his hips rock from side to side...making his thighs and torso rock with them.

The rest of the frock fell.

Two proud, jutting pectoral muscles were revealed. They were the foremost part of this man's body, rivaled only by his bottom: Javert knew this from walking around to see the profile many, many times. What god or devil of a man could walk around with those, without women and men tearing each other apart for the privilege of touching him? Valjean flexed them to his audience member. Sacrebleu...two red, swollen nipples pointed those heaving pecs straight at him. Demanding his attention, made for lesser creatures to try and suck some imaginary sweet nectar from them. What kindness, to gift these nubs of flesh for Javert, to let him please this marvelously muscled man by pleasing himself.

“There are no more rocks,” said the impossible prisoner.

“...Then lift me instead,” spoke some voice in proxy of Javert.

The prisoner smirked. He always smirked, when ordered to do this. His eyes shone with mirth as he walked to Javert, who was ironically too captivated to move. Valjean sent forth both his hands to grip Javert's hips and lift him to press both of them together. At the crotch. Javert wrapped his legs around that girthful waist, pressing his somehow bare feet against the beast-man's bottom for support, with his arms under Valjean's own monstrous ones. He couldn't see the convict's face, and this was the best, let him forget the very idea of faces. Nothing but swollen flesh.

Valjean then took Javert's head in his right hand, and—and then he pushed it down into Valjean's deep and sweaty cleft!

The Inspector's scenario became rushed and disorganized as he pleasured himself. Valjean was rubbing Javert's face up and down, making him lick and taste the skin above the muscle—then to the right—then to the left, licking and nibbling every inch of these supple, salty plateaus of meat. Valjean chuckled, t-that was important, it always made it better. He couldn't say why, but...Down now, toward the left areola. Sucking it into his mouth, sucking on it, this scandalous nipple pressing into his tongue, yes, and then the other. Both of them, sucking them erect, savoring the taste and the pressure endlessly. Then Javert slips down Valjean's torso, feeling the abs, the start of the thighs, that broad and thick back, and-and that bottom was just inches away, Javert reached for it. Valjean moans in approval, pressing into his hands, the weight and hardness and shape of the planets trembling, bouncing on Valjean's command to please Javert, Valjean is erect and pressing into him, so large, so thick, Javert is drooling for so many reasons. Spank him, smack the fat, round planets, he likes it, he gyrates...yes, he's bucking against Javert, wanting him to do more, and rocking side to side, the titan's body is moving to give Javert full access, spank, grope, kiss, touch whatever he wanted, however he wanted, Valjean was a god that demanded the most gorgeous tribute--!!

The Inspector faintly heard the dull landing of semen into the chamber pot.

He quickly regained himself and prepared for bed in earnest. As he cloaked himself in the blanket, the damnable thought of Valjean pressing him into the ground and kissing him softly left a warm sensation to flutter in his stomach.

...Madeleine's chest was slightly larger, wasn't it? It had a layer of soft fat. Nowhere near his exaggerated imagination, but bigger than Valjean's...softer...Javert perished the thought and shut his eyes, this time to sleep.

\-----------------------

Javert re-cataloged the events of the day in his mind. Typical theft attempts, a few amorous lovers, loud children: all perfectly boring to a busy magistrate. But duty was duty. He was mostly just thankful that he could think clearly around the man again.

Inspector Javert was trying a new method to collar his lust: watching others reacting to Madeleine. This was working fairly well so far. He noticed how varied the reactions to the physique of the mayor actually were, overcoat and all. Whenever Madeleine reached out for something, perhaps giving a doll of straw to some ungrateful urchin, the surrounding men would notice instantly. Their eyes became clouded with fear, yet some of that same number quickly altered it to disgust. They saw the muscles of a brute, undoubtedly. Disrespectful, but not punishable. But Javert noticed their reactions were stronger when women observed Madeleine at the same time. Then it became clear: they wanted a similarly powerful body to court a maiden of choice.

Well, given the bodies they all had, some could and some could not achieve that. Such was the way, and certainly for Javert...he had to work for proportion and tone instead, and that just for work purposes. Perhaps that was why he fantasies of prisoners transforming into god-devils of well-endowed flesh. Javert reflected on thoughts like these. They were actually amusing, even useful for observing jealous men that might commit offenses in the name of courtship. And as a result, Madeleine could go about his foolish business unmolested by any amorous policeman.

Good Lord, he actually had to trick himself into behaving professionally. That overcoat did not hide enough, as much as Madeleine clearly tried. Especially whenever he bent over to pick up something...that rump seemed intent to burst out of its confines without hesitation. Not to worry, though, Javert was prepared to handle any incident...professionally. Even if Madeleine's bottom seemed to bounce a little more with each passing day, whenever he bent toward the ground. That had to be his imagination. But what if it wasn't?

Never mind. He had a report to make.

Javert knocked on the door and saw Madeleine's assistant routinely waving him inside the mairie. He walked to the mayor's office. The door was open. Madeleine was reading some document, Javert couldn't tell of what text from here. Javert knocked on the open door to alert him to his presence.

“Ah! You're a little late, come in already.”

“Pardon, Monsieur le Maire. I had personal business.”

“I understand.”

Madeleine dropped the document to the desk. Javert instantly noticed something horrible about the sight before him. Madeleine's coat was absent...and on top of that, his jacket and cravat were gone as well. And so...on full display, Madeleine had two swollen pecs defying the white linen shirt that bound them, enough that the buttons tied above the cleft could not close the large gaps that had formed. Objectively, Madeleine's bare skin was showing. Subjectively, Javert was witness to two white, rolling hills that clashed in the middle to melt the snow and leave the hairy earth bare.

And then he saw them. Two swollen nipples, peeking from just behind the linen. Javert could see the mayor's areolae tips, yet he was still clothed.

Javert could not think.

“O-Oh, pardon me, Inspector!”, spoke Madeleine from above the chest. “I completely forgot. I tripped into some mud earlier today, and my clothes need laundering. This is an old shirt...but it's funny to think about it: I was sure this shirt was larger than the one I was wearing at the time. Yet it's barely hanging together...I must have been mistaken, haha!”

Madeleine was laughing. Javert was screaming, although no one could hear it.

“In any case, your report.”

The word 'report' snapped Javert's eyes back to Madeleine's own.

“Y-Yes, right away.” What a ninny, stuttering over a chest...a beautiful, mouth-watering chest, but a simple chest nonetheless.

“At 11:28 this morning...”

Javert had the blessing of automatic speech for reports. He pointed his eyes skyward to keep the mental mechanism active. Up there, he could think about the mayor's body all he wanted.

His forearms were displayed as well. They were deliciously hirsute, a sign of Madeleine's obvious virility. Much larger than Javert's, built for power, most likely from years of farm labor. Long and thick fingers, a rare combination, yet something about that thrilled him. Perhaps it was the idea of those fingers gripping him greedily--

A-As for his face...he had lived a hard life, but this had not marred him that much, as Javert saw it. Light brown eyes that shone sweetly very often, worn smile lines and frown lines both, a wrinkled forehead from ponderous thoughts, the hint of a growing beard that would doubtlessly become lush and full with time...a thick neck, yet not overly thick; beautiful, evenly parted brown hair that was easily ruffled in any breeze...Madeleine was a demigod in so many ways, and Javert believed that beauty was one of the finest he maintained. Certainly more beautiful than a filthy thief.

A beautiful face for a beautiful body...especially that chest. Those nipples that so dearly needed to suckle an attendant. And that bottom that burst the seat of those old pants once before, from being too wonderfully large: those fattening buttocks bounced behind that overcoat, Javert just knew it. And those titanic legs were testing the seams of poor Madeleine's trousers as well, simply not being built for such a large man. What a pity. What a sight.

All of it. Even more than that! And Javert could never have any of it...

“Javert?! JAVERT!”

“...and that concludes the report. Wait. Monsieur le Maire, were you saying something?”

“Why are you staring at me?”

“No, I'm not.”

Javert felt his blood drain to his feet. His response was automatic, idiotic. He had dropped his gaze over time to roam over the mayor, filling his thoughts with stronger images, and this led him at the end of it all to boring a hole into the mayor's cleavage. And now that he was forced to recognize that, he also registered the strain of his own trousers against his prick that desperately throbbed at the thought of being rubbed against any part of the mayor. Especially his rump. But now he had to escape this nightmare before anything else happened.

“...M-Monsieur le Maire, I am dreadfully sorry, I must be tired.”

“...Yes. That must be it.”

“My report is concluded. I must go.”

“Wait, Inspector, you should—”

*SNAP*

Javert could not think. Madeleine had been slouching slightly in his seat, but upon trying to keep Javert in the office for whatever reason, he over-corrected his posture. His large chest pushed irresistibly forward against the middle of the straining buttons, forcing the cloth it held to snap apart and launch the button in the air. Right between Javert's eyes.

Javert fell onto his rear on the floor. But it wasn't the momentum of the button that made him collapse.

“Javert!” Madeleine stood up and walked over to him, kneeling in front of his pathetic form. “Oh dear, oh dear, please forgive me! I wasn't thinking! Oh, that's just embarrassing...that will leave a welt, too.” Madeleine was thumbing his inner brow. “I'm so terribly sorry, Inspector...”

Javert did not mind the welt. He was too focused on the ground-pointed pecs that were now exposed from the loosened shirt. The folds of the linen were apart enough to show hints of...of two large, red areolae that surrounded two fat, erect nipples. Javert did not mind the welt at all.

“...Javert, are you still with me?”

Javert meekly nodded. But as he did so, his tongue landed in the saliva that had pooled in his mouth, compelling him to take a large swallow.

Madeleine grew silent.

“There is no need to apologize for an accident. I will be on my way, Monsieur le Maire. As soon as you get back to your desk.”

Madeleine looked away from him. This was plainly odd...what was troubling him?

“Before I do so, could I trouble you for one minute more? I need to find that button.”

Javert puzzled, and he knew his face showed it.

“I know this is disgraceful, but I hate replacing material. I think it landed under my desk somewhere...”

It was then that Madeleine, Javert's superior in all matters of municipal law, turned around to bend his torso to the floor and toward the underside of the desk. This left Javert with a horribly ecstatic sight. He was mere inches away from Madeleine's gigantic and bouncing buttocks, swaying and even clapping against each other a little with the motions he made to search for that damnable button. If he leaned in even a little...

He could press his face into the noble Madeleine's bottom.

Javert felt himself familiarly seize up and spasm, and so he knew his underwear was soiled.

“Do you see it anywhere, Inspector?”

“...”

“Javert? Anything?”

“...”

Madeleine grew silent once more.

“...I am sorry, but I am very tired, Monsieur Madeleine. I should go home.”

“Ah, here it is.”

Madeleine pulled himself up and swiftly turned, and Javert watched him do all of it. Madeleine then looked down at him.

“...This is an absolute mess.”

Javert started and felt blood surge to his face. He didn't...he wasn't looking there, was he? In any case, the description was terrifyingly accurate.

“Go home, Inspector. I apologize for this indecency.”

“A-Accidents happen, Monsieur le Maire,” Javert found himself saying as he made to stand. “Good night.”

“Sleep well.”

“A-And you.”

Javert left the mairie without another word. When he came to his apartment, he burned his wet underwear for too many reasons and set aside coins to replace it. Now Madeleine had suffered his perversion. And now Javert would see that shirt straining, that button flying, that bottom so close to his face...whenever he touched his impish member. Madeleine, of all men! This was unacceptable.

And yet he felt it was somehow inevitable, that he would dream of such a demigod.

\------------------------

Unfettered by clothes and now in bed, Madeleine pondered the scene that unfolded earlier that evening.

He was presented with an interesting dilemma. Were he to charge Javert of indecency, he could easily rid himself of the fastidious lawman forever. But that would mean that he would lose sight of the same former guard that evidently was likely to die a little death just from being close to him. Were he to ignore it, he could privately court the man into bed and explore the slenderly muscled form that had been haunting his thoughts at night. Yet that ran the risk of him being discovered and incarcerated again. What decision to make? He needed to review everything he learned before getting anxious about one choice or the other.

When Inspector Javert first came to this Montreuil, Jean Valjean instantly panicked to find a way to pacify him. After some thought and soul-searching, he quelled his fear to visit his apartment in the night and perhaps gift him with some charity. Some coins for a nicer hat, perhaps, to encourage some self-pampering, anything. Never mind that he would realize this to be futile later. He couldn't break into his room, that would be asking for trouble. But that left the problem of how to make sure he received the money. And so he peeked into his window and discovered that Javert slept without peace. He was in the middle of a dream that demanded he undo his underwear and point his prick toward the window. His swollen...intimidating prick.

Valjean helplessly took in the sight. Discipline had sculpted and toned his tall body to be well-proportioned and trim, but he also had very nice curves that his uniform hid. Namely, his bottom told Jean that he was more well-fed than in his Toulon days, especially as it shifted with Javert's sleep movements. He was shocked to find such a handsome man out of that heartless guard, although not so much that he stayed to debase him. But when he came back to give the charity act a real shot some months later...he found it difficult to think.

Looking at Javert in that moment, Valjean was amazed at how ill the uniform suited him. What a waste. Whoever Javert really was outside of the law, he had become an impossibly beautiful fellow.

His body was still exquisitely lean, but there was just _more_ of him in all the right places! Bigger legs twisted the sheets, bigger arms splayed across the bed, a fuller chest that now boasted his nipples, a fuller face and kissable lips that had been hidden under that hat, a deliciously fatter bottom...and it all framed that prick to make it look bigger, too. All the proportions were perfectly symmetrical...that had to be on purpose. He was obviously taking care of himself more, perhaps inspired by all the Montreuil men doing similarly for the spring fever approaching. But when he compared them to him, it was laughable. Not that Valjean was laughing...he was too busy trying to keep his mouth from overflowing.

An unbelievable improvement. A complete transformation with such a subtle difference. Jean had an evil thought of forcing Javert to dress more liberally, but this thought was quelled as Javert twisted on the bed again.

He tried not to dwell on the man's endowment before. But right then, he felt no choice in the matter. It stood confidently out from his crotch, with a small drop of white fluid lazily flowing down the head. He shuddered. How? How did it make him feel like that? And why was he standing there, getting hard about a naked man in his own bed, in the middle of the night?! At the very least, his pants didn't need any more strain!

As Javert...for some reason started rolling his hips, the reason became perfectly obvious. Squeezing past his massive buttocks. Entering boldly. Stretching and filling him deeply. Jean had to go home and spill seed on the ground, for the first time in years.

And now this evening, when he pushed his annoyingly large rear toward the man's face, he couldn't deny that he wanted Javert to take the opportunity given to him. To touch him, to grab his flesh and enjoy himself honestly. Jean had power over this beautiful Javert, had him drooling over his often unwieldy form, and he didn't want that power to go to waste. He wanted Javert to adore him, and for him to return the adoration. In body, certainly, but...Javert was so odd, and Jean was learning so much about him so quickly. And he wanted to learn even more, to learn everything.

He wanted to find the good in him, and to improve upon it, and then to bask in it. To make a lover out of Javert. And when he thought of Javert naked and amorous...he found himself emulating Javert's trembling.

Well, now he had a plan to make this desire a reality.

His overcoat was clean the next day, and he wore it once again as he attended to business across the city that unknowingly hid him. He hated lying to them, and he hated the horrible paranoia that never fully escaped him. A paranoia that Javert activated, especially...until now. He had no feathers of a peacock, but if the hate-forged muscle from Toulon made Javert tremble with lust, then he was all too happy to leave buttons undone, to let his cheaper clothes tear, and then to make sure that the perverted policeman saw him twist the coat to reveal the skin showing underneath. And so he did this, whenever he could, for two full weeks. Up until tonight, with Javert invited for dinner and not being able to give a reason for why he couldn't attend. He promised to wear the overcoat, to ease the poor man's anxiety.

Absolutely terrible, yes. Morally reprehensible, given that making a show of himself like this was not courting but crude seduction. But no matter how much he berated himself, he couldn't deny the ecstasy of knowing that perfectly proportioned, slender man was staring at bare parts of him and becoming aroused. He wasn't embarrassed about his form with Javert looking at him. He felt...he actually felt _exceptionally_ attractive. Others could gawk at him or be disgusted or even admire him, but this was stick-in-the-mud Javert. It was a vote of the highest confidence.

If Javert drooled over him, then he was drool-worthy. That was simple fact...!

Only one problem stood in his way: Javert had not taken off his coat, even after dinner was finished.

“That was excellent, Monsieur,” said Javert with all the enthusiasm of a blank wall. “Thank you again. Now I should be heading home.”

“I'm afraid not.”

Javert stopped in the middle of standing up from his seat.

“...Monsieur?”

“I need you to answer a question for me before you leave.” This was an odd approach, but it made no difference how odd it was. It would work.

Javert stood up erect, so Madeleine also stood in order to walk over to him. Now, he just had to start lifting the coat up from his form, then Javert would be obedient and let him remove it. Yes. Exactly according to plan. There was still that unflattering uniform covering his beautiful body. Perhaps...it would be fine, yes. Javert would consent with enough opportunity. Madeleine pressed a palm into Javert's crotch.

“Why on earth do you hide what God has so generously given you?”

 _...What a terrible line. I would see_ myself _out for saying something so insipid._

“...Monsieur le Maire is drunk.”

What? “I have not been drinking.” As he denied Javert's claim, it suddenly made sense. He removed his own coat, showing his completely unbuttoned shirt and undone pants. “I merely want to compliment you on how handsome you are. And you really, really are.” He moved his palm to rub the cleft between his chest. “I need not be a mayor or a commoner to see beauty in a fine man like you. I only wish you would let people see yourself now and then. Such a dowdy uniform!”

“Madeleine, please!”

Madeleine embraced him. Javert was not resisting, merely afraid. Oh, how he pitied him! So deprived...sculpting a decadent body for no one to notice. Well, no more of that. Tonight, Javert could touch his overgrown, fat-bottomed mayor all he wanted. Even if that were all that happened...even if it should be so much more.

He knew his chest was pressing into Javert. This was good. Let him feel what he was staring at for what had to be months.

“You have admired me from afar,” stated Madeleine. “And I have done the same for you. It was difficult, but I managed it.” He found himself unwilling to admit _how_ he managed it. “I have longed for you...and you me. We should not punish ourselves, mon ami.”

Javert was completely silent. Merely breathing...quickly, in and out, in and out, trying to stay in control. But Madeleine was not going to let this end. Javert would lose control, and so would he. And so he took one of the fool's large hands and laid it over his right pectoral.

So warm...horribly, wonderfully warm!

“Ah...!”

Madeleine guided his fingers to that troublesome nipple, always poking out when he least wanted it. Always chafing against his shirts, both of them. Javert started to thumb it, squeezing the relaxed muscle around the areola...! Goodness, goodness, that was a fine sensation! Valjean stifled a moan.

Javert heard it.

“Mon...Madeleine...”

Valjean ignored the horror-struck tone and shakily took his other hand, planting a soft kiss on his elegantly long fingers. He had started panting. He tried to breathe deeply, just enough to speak coherently.

“Touch me, Javert. I want you to touch me to your heart's content...!”

Javert nearly fell forward in claiming Jean's mouth with his own. He felt his lips instinctually parting and pressing to meet this other, invading pair. So sloppy, so hurried and clumsy, so _gorgeous._ Javert's hands were browsing all over his chest, grabbing him, _molesting_ him like it were the most important thing to ever do. If only in Toulon...if only he interpreted those stares correctly, Javert would have been an invaluable companion. But that was all in the past. Javert was obsessed. Javert was his...!

More.

Valjean opened his eyes, still kissing the dear man – his eyes were shut so tightly, oh dear, he was in ecstasy! – and made to undo that horrible uniform. Javert was letting him do it, as the policeman contentedly rubbed tight circles over his chest. Valjean pushed himself forward a little, trying to make Javert trace closer to his now terribly neglected nipples. Was he still nervous? Tug them! Lick them! They needed his love so dearly, and he only realized it now! But progress! Javert was nervous, and progress was still progress. Madeleine had undone the jacket. And then stopped the kiss to pull the shirt over his head.

He could not stop himself from ripping Javert's trousers, and undergarments, clean off his legs.

Naked...! God in Heaven, Javert would never wear clothes again. Nothing would hide that glorious form, built from marble by a loving sculptor. More than that...he was awake, right in front of him. With kiss-swollen lips and wild, dark eyes.

And...there it was, bobbing in front of him. Fluid running down, weeping, crying out for him. Good God, it was enormous. He was preparing for this, stretching himself mercilessly, but he wondered if it was enough? Well, he was going to try.

“I...I will replace your uniform.”

Javert said nothing and moved to take off his mayor's clothes. It took no effort at all, with Madeleine obediently moving to let the garments fall from his overgrown body. His drool-worthy body. Javert was naked, and Valjean was the one he wanted.

Jean would have commanded Javert to kiss him. But no command was needed. Javert saw his expression and understood, and his lips were claimed again. He pressed himself against that lithe form again, skin against skin, chest against chest, pricks...meeting in the middle. One of them whimpered, Jean wasn't sure who. Perhaps it was both of them. What else could they do...?

Hands traveled down his back. He mimicked their lazy groping, molding the tender flesh under his hands, feeling every curve and cord of this demigod. But then they traveled lower. Lower...Jean found his interest in the man's rump diminished. For now, at least. He reached between them, trying to grab that swollen cock at last, and then--

*SMACK*

“AH!”

No shame. No hesitation from Javert. Jean could only register that one fact now. His right hand had smacked Jean's left cheek, and he felt it trembling as Javert released him. The left hand mimicked the right, harder, louder. They were kneading his rump. This was actually happening. Javert was playing with his _bottom_ , so close to his virginity, fingers so close to poking between! Jean turned around and bent forward...that cock, so close to him now, his rear being disciplined by a guard of Toulon.

A mere whisper: “More...”

Javert paused...and then pushed him to all fours on the floor. He felt hands on him again. It was only after one question, and one response, that Javert gave him more.

\---------------------

Jean Valjean...after all these years. A fraudulent mayor in an honest city. A parole breaker. A recidivist thief. The scars he bore told a deeper truth than Javert could have ever heard or spoken. This was the man. So much to take into his thoughts...and yet...

And yet he couldn't think at all.

Javert felt the soft and healthy flesh trembling under his hands. Indescribably warm, the warmth of bulging skin, the scandalous intimacy of groping another man's backside. But it was tremendous. Jean Valjean the fable had emerged from his dreams, and his bottom was even larger. Rounder.

_Eager._

Valjean wanted more. And more he would receive.

He lifted his left hand and pressed it into the small of the criminal's back. Valjean understood and lowered his knees to the hardwood floor, Javert doing the same. But then he bent his torso downward again...like in the office. What a tremendous brute. Kneeling before him, bearing his buttocks before a policeman. A naked policeman...

Javert was ecstatic to hold and bounce this behind while kissing the man...but to see it in front of him as he pressed into the presenting cheeks...as he _parted_ them, pressed them together, parted them again, and so on until he was trembling too much to continue...he felt like a teenage boy again, seeing his Warden's pants fall in front of him in the middle of his office. He ignored it, then.

“May I...?”

Now Javert had a clear and irresistible duty to perform. His destiny.

He slipped an index finger past the tight cleft, pushing past the warm and thick and squeezing curves, and encountered a small, red, _moist_ hole that easily parted to swallow his digit.

“Please...!”

Javert took the deepest breath he could. He had to stay strong.

He rested his left hand on the left buttock, reveling in Valjean shifting on the floor to take more of his finger inside him. He clapped the buttock again, never getting tired of watching it quiver. His middle and ring fingers seemed to move of their own volition, squeezing past the globes to penetrate Valjean further. He clapped the right cheek. Then the left, rubbing it without remorse. Four fingers, all amazingly accepted. One, two, three smacks, then two for the other, getting harder, turning the skin red from the blows!

Piercing his flesh, spanking his backside, being pleaded to do so. Getting moans and whimpers to do even more. Javert would die if he were not careful.

“ _Do it. Do it now, please! Javert, your prick...fill me up.”_

Javert could not believe his ears. His mouth, once again, failed to function. All he could do was listen.

“ _Fuck me.”_

As you wish, Monsieur le Maire.

His cock was dripping pre-orgasmic fluid more liberally than it should. But how could he not be so close to release with this noble beast of a man presenting to him? He fazed himself: this was actually happening. Javert was going to fuck Madeleine and Jean Valjean, the same man, the liar and the gentleman. He was going to fuck that man, violate him, steal his innocence...whatever of it he had left. This was the point of no return.

Javert picked up his erection, guided it toward t-t-that perfect bottom, took deep breaths to not ruin it all from feeling these round boulders crushing his poor flesh...and...that hole was parting around him. Swallowing him. So hideously hot, so tight...he was going insane, he was on the edge of reality and about to fall into nothing. How did such a small opening stretch for his unwieldy endowment? He faintly heard Valjean croaking or gasping...and then he heard it loudly, the man's words of “yes; yes; deeper”, and so the question no longer mattered to him.

He pulled out to feel this vice of smoldering velvet gripping his mushroom head. He felt Valjean shuddering beneath him...was he hurting the man? He gave a hand to him, and Valjean grasped it gently. They were fine. He let his other hand continue to rub the buttock it held. Now he wanted to feel it all over his cock again... He reached within him for restraint and burrowed even deeper into the surrendered man. Huh. So that was why they went back and forth. Very well.

He pulled out. And then pushed in. Out. In. So on. So forth. So. Much. God, Heaven, Pure, Bliss. Jean, Valjean. Seeing, Stars. Mon, Sieur, Le, Maire!!

“OH! JAVERT...HARDER! JAVERT, FUCK ME, SPANK ME, YOU BRUTAL MAN!”

His mind was blank. Nothing mattered anymore.

“OH, I'LL SHOW YOU BRUTAL, JEAN VALJEAN!”

Completely insane, Javert _hammered_ the brute's tight hole. Every ounce of his strength, devoted to pumping his cock inside that fat bottom. Devoted to fucking him unconscious. He drilled into the god of bliss, humping furiously until he was pressing him into the floor. His hands were possessed, abusing the man's cheeks with no concept of gentleness, just spanking, making them hurt from the discipline. Discipline for a naughty mayor, a devilish criminal. A beautiful whore of a man. Jean's voice was muffled against the floor, but Javert heard faint whimpers and panting and screams, nothing telling him to stop.

Jean didn't move to make him stop, and he could do so without even trying. He wanted this. Wanted Javert's cock filling and battering him, making his giant, musclebound body quiver and submit to ecstasy.

Jean Valjean truly, wholly desired him. Javert.

This god of a man wanted all of Javert...he only wished he could last longer for him.

Burying himself to the root of his endowment, he finally let the stars on his vision fill the sky.

\---------------------

Both of them were glad the portress was not inside the house at the time.

Jean Valjean treasured this sensation upon him: Javert, exhausted, and lying limp over his back while breathing softly. Feeling so many of his proportions at once. With that wonderful prick still inside him, hurting so pleasantly, its seed pooling inside him. Javert, having fucked him, against all the odds he thought prevented this encounter. Javert, derailed. All in all, he would have to say that tonight was so far a success.

...He just hoped the rest of it went well enough.

Meanwhile, for Javert himself...

When he softened enough to pull out, he found he had to use all of his strength to stand. He was very, very tired. His muscles were weighed down by his soul. He had to leave and get his inferiors for an arrest.

“Javert.”

He stopped. Of course he did. He had no strength left within him. He should have immediately arrested the man, and yet he was content to stick his cock inside his rump and go to town instead. Gorgeously plump and bouncing or not...Javert had failed. And he was still in the throes of it, letting Valjean have a voice.

“You shouldn't have shown your scars to me.”

“I did that on purpose.” And that was true. The moment he thought of it, it felt right. “I wanted you to know exactly whom you desired.”

“Honesty,” replied Javert with no inflection.

Valjean walked forward, and Javert could was ironically too captivated to move. He was being embraced. Not pressing muscle into him, not stimulating him. They both knew it was for the sake of being held.

“I run a fair city here, Inspector,” continued Valjean. “And this city needs me to run it. I run a good business, I create profit, I give the unfortunate everything they need. And this is not a crime, Javert. I am devoted here. I love it here...”

He leaned in to place a soft kiss on Javert's forehead.

“...And I want to love you here. To stay here with you. If I must leave...tell me, would we ever see each other again? Would this city not fall to greed again, undoing all the good I've done?”

Javert felt dead inside as Valjean kissed his nose. All of this was true. Why did it have to be true?

“Would you not be lonely, my dear? With no one to celebrate the Lord with you? No one to treasure the beauty you've made of yourself?”

Was that it? Was that why he was so meticulous about training and shaping his flesh? Just...just to court a god of muscle and curves and sex and...and warmth...and just somebody to make him feel like police work really was just another job?

“...”

“I want to celebrate you,” pressed Valjean. “To learn about you, to not be afraid of you every time I see your bludgeon. Or rather...heh! Your other, less impressive bludgeon. To be naked with you...in every sense.”

“...”

Both of them were desperate, urging the other to hear one silent yet divergent word: _Please..._

Valjean kissed his lover. Javert found himself accepting it, and returning it. Such a warm man...he could do this all day. And then all night. Kiss and lick his warm, gentle fugitive until his brain was full of that sensation he always felt before going to sleep. He always felt it, because he was thinking of this man. This thief. This loving, beautiful thief.

Why...? Why did he make him want to forget about the laws of the land? Why him?

Jean stroked his back as if to answer: because I feel the same way about you.

Javert broke the kiss. He couldn't see in front of him, not having the strength to wipe his eyes.

“...I can't do this.”

Jean wiped under his eyes, and Javert saw he had tears of his own.

“Please try...I know it's painful, mon amour. For a man to see God's light for the first time, I can tell you, it's blinding. It hurts. I want to help you see it clearly, to comfort you as your eyes adjust.”

Jean rested his face on Javert's shoulder. Javert shuddered, grabbing hold of Jean to keep standing.

“You and I, we're the same in this...! Javert, you are a good and worthy man. Especially now, believe me. Please give me a chance and believe me! I already love you, just for being beside me in peace. I...I want to give you peace. I want you to be happy, with me, with anybody, I just...I don't want you to fall away again...!”

Javert heard it all, and he felt it all threatening to consume him. Insane, transcendent, brutal, trying to rip all of his soul out of his chest in one slow pull. But...did Jean, did he...really feel that...?

“...You love me?”

Jean still had tears flowing down his face as he kissed him.

Javert fell to his knees.

\---------------------

Javert woke up next to Jean that morning. It was a Sunday, just after sunrise. This was the first time in all of his years that he slept in another man's bed. Or in anyone's bed, with or without the other person in it. But after the chaos yesterday, staying closer to him just seemed to be the best option.

He felt Jean wrapped around him, cuddling him like a stuffed toy. That chest was pressed against his shoulder blades. This was too much. He could never learn to handle this.

Jean then shifted behind him and kissed the nape of his neck.

“Morning...”

Javert registered the immense disbelief he held for all of this. How did he succumb so easily? One man, one admittedly Godly man, showed him a little affection, and he crumbled. That was all it took.

“Morning.”

“Mass today. You're coming.”

Fear instantly gripped his chest at the thought, but…he was right. Javert had no strength in him to refuse, not even a murmur of protest. Last night and the months leading up to it really were all it took.

And as he thought of it...perhaps the good book would give him guidance in this weird time. Perhaps he needed to start thinking of it differently, if it meant a man like Jean Valjean could kiss him and touch him and take his cock without feeling like a horrible person. In any case...he was obliged to obey.

“Yes, Monsieur le Maire.”

Madeleine smiled against his neck.


End file.
